


déluge

by iosis



Series: tsukikane week 2014 [2]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, ooc kaneki kinda???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 20:28:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2886458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iosis/pseuds/iosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t plan for things to turn out this way when he first came here, investigating the new coffee place around the corner from his campus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	déluge

**Author's Note:**

> Written (awfully late at that)for TsukiKane Week, Prompt for Day 5 - School of the Ghoul / Alternate Universe. Your generic coffee shop au ft. Kaneki as a college student.

 

 

A confident, straight profile, shadows emphasising the curve of his jaw, and there’s something noble in the arch of his neck, aristocratic, even. Eyes, so full of expression, framed by eyelashes the existence of which should in no way be legal. A stainless white apron to match the gloves he wore as his hands reached out for the machine, curled around the steam wand, flew over the resister keyboard – it was miraculous none of that was stained with coffee. Immaculately well-kept hair offering a softer frame to his face, not a single strand out of place. Kaneki wondered if the vibrant purple ever caused issues in the workplace.

 

Across from him, Hide rolled his eyes.

‘You know, you should probably do something instead of coming here almost every day and just gawking.’

He didn’t realise he was staring.

‘Isn’t much I can do’, Kaneki mumbled, quickly averting his gaze.

‘You could, I don’t know, strike a conversation. Ask him how his day went. Ask him for his number. Ask him out for coffee, oh I don’t know.’

‘I’ve been asking him for coffee for about a month now. Double black with two sugrars.’ Kaneki noted, more to the polished surface of the coffee table than to his friend.

‘Don’t play dumb, you know what I mean.’ Hide leant back in his chair, hands behind his head. ‘Sitting there and staring will get you nowhere.’

Hide may have been right, but it wasn’t like Kaneki really had a vast variety of options. He didn’t plan for things to turn out this way when he first came here, investigating the new coffee place around the corner from his campus. Didn’t expect for the barista to legit look like he’s just stepped out of a high fashion photoshoot, clothes that were most likely designer and all – the place didn’t seem to have uniforms, just aprons and gloves.

Kaneki probably should have aborted the mission straight away, when it wasn’t that much of a disaster to begin with, but he made the grave error of walking up the counter. And then he made his order, and this ethereal human being looked him directly in the eye and asked for his goddamn _name,_ that smile plastered all over his handsome face, and that was it, the downfall of Kaneki Ken. He’s been lucky it wasn’t this painfully enticing specimen of the human race that delivered his drink over to where he was slumped over a table – he didn’t even notice a stern-faced waitress lower the cup in front of him. He ended up late to his lecture, dividing the entirety of the half-an hour break into purposefully tiny sips of espresso, trying his hardest to keep his glances towards the counter at minimum and hoping his embarrassment wasn’t completely transparent.

 

In hindsight, he should have left it at that. An attractive stranger served him a coffee, so what? University of Ghoul had a decent caf on campus, plus a Starbucks across the road from the history building, free wi-fi and all. Kaneki is reluctant to admit that the new place having better ambience for writing and lower prices is just a cheap excuse he made to himself to justify his second visit, and the one after that, and the next one.

 

It’s almost become some sort of a rite for him, whether he be studying before his next class or killing time before a lecture, seated at the one-man cresent of a decorative table with a splendid view of the front. A toasted sandwich and a cappuccino with no sugar on his lunch break, or a double espresso with two sugar cubes on the side.

 It was always crowded, soft music barely audible over a stream of voices playing. Sometimes they played jazz, sometimes soft guitar. The mystery man had a particular preference for classical music, it seemed – unless Kaneki was mistaken and there was in fact no correlation between the amount of it played and whether this abnormality of human aesthetic was in or not. Yeah, he had the timing of his shifts memorised to some degree of precision, and maybe this sort of behaviour was stalkerish and weird but he liked to reason that there was more than mere fascination behind it. 

He always felt more relaxed on the premises. Sometimes he’d come in after classes, the residue of anxiety left over from another front-of-class presentation gradually dissolving in the setting he’s grown familiar with. He had the odd 8am lecture occasionally, so sometimes he’d come in before that, struggling to keep awake. The stranger never seemed to have opening shifts, but the solemn waitress from before was there, along with a guy who looked like he had way too much energy for 7.30 in the morning.

Unlike the main purpose of his visits, these two had name tags – ‘Touka’ and ‘Nishiki’. He’s gotten quite fond of them, too, eventually. Sometimes they’d exchange a few words about the weather, the classes (turns out they all went to the same university, just different campuses).

Hide had a break at the same time as him on Thursdays. It didn’t take his friend long to figure out the meaning behind the breaking of their past tradition of going to the ramen place nearby. Since then, he’s had to put up with the occasional teasing remark – or speeches of encouragement and calls to action like this one.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he told Hide then, keeping his eyes lowered. Hide did this to him last time, convincing him to chat up a cute girl in one of his lectures – Rize, her name was. They even dated for a while, before everything kinda fell apart in a horrendous mess. He’s been reluctant to ever try to pursue anyone again, really, finding the vulnerability of it all discomforting.

 

Fantasies were harmless until you start to nurture them as expectations, he told himself, and for a while, life continued just like that – the smell of freshely brewed coffee, the calming notes of Vivaldi, and the stranger’s smile as he chatted away to the customers, foreign words winding their way into his speech here and there – so radiant he never dared looking in his direction for too long.

And then it was the week of straight up hell. The week of staying up till 4 am, flipping through books until his eyes no longer focused, setting his alarm for a 30 hours nap and flipping his laptop open as soon as his brain regained the ability to function. Constantly stressed, constantly tired and irritated and hungry at that – he’s switched to instant noodles and some sort of protein bars Hide’s been supplying him with. They’d Skype each other sometimes in an attempt to stay awake as Hide fretted over his own projects, acutely aware of their transformation into sleep-deprived autopilot zombies. A relaxing hour spent admiring the ethereal beauty of Mr. Coffee Shop was a bizarre concept as far as finals week reigned. The few days before the History of European Literature exam he’s consumed so much caffeine he doubted his system could handle any more of it in any form. He felt he did ok on the exam itself– his last one for the year, but by the end of it he felt exhaustion, not relief. There comparative essay was coming up next week, but at least there was no deadline urgency there.

Kaneki decided he deserved to fabricate the relief by humouring his – addiction? Fascination? Whatever it was.

 

It was hardly surprising to see the usually crammed interior almost empty, with only a few students strategically spread out among the power outlets. Few had time to relax in the past couple of days, Kaneki reasoned. This did, however, mean that his usual time needed to collect himself before that impossible man was in front of him as he double-checked his change in the queue – was gone. This time, the stranger’s eyes were upon him before he even approached the counter, as soon as the soft chime at the door announced his arrival.

‘Why, hello! Haven’t seen you for a while!’

It took him a few heartbeats to realise the man was addressing him, beaming from behind the counter, immaculate as ever.  ‘Kaneki, was it? I take it as exams had started?’

Kaneki nodded, approaching cautiously. He remembered him. He recognised him among the hundreds of students that streamed through here daily. Among hundreds of names he’d have written on hundreds of receipts and paper cups, he’s remembered his. The thought was overwhelming.

‘’s that so? I hope it hasn’t been too tough for you. You’ve been alright lately?’

He nodded again, praying the hot flush creeping up his neck and threatening to stain his cheeks wasn’t very noticeable. It’s not his fault social interactions with unknown individuals make him like this. It’s not his fault this particular individual has an effect on him like no other.

 

‘Ah, tres bien. Would you like your usual?’

He remembered his name _and_ his order. Kaneki mumbled something in approval, trying his best to avoid direct eye contact. The effort’s in vain, though – when he hands the change over the counter, a large warm hand covers his, fingers lingering on the side of his palm for a second before the stranger pulls away. Kaneki’s heart is hammering in his chest by the time he retreats to his favourite spot – it’s almost winter but something in his chest feels too hot, too tight.

 

Surrounded by his favourite books, the work he was familiar and actually half-decent in, he finally calmed down after a while, focusing on the note-taking. The atmosphere helped him unwind a bit, hand no longer clutching at the pen so hard his knuckles went white. He’s missed this, really, his litte refuge from the rest of the world and the congregation of frustration and stress that was the second year of university. He almost got carried away with his notes – until there was a ghost of a hand on his shoulder, the touch making him tense immediately. He looked up, aware of a presence behind him – and froze, openly staring into the face he’s spent way too long imagining. The mystery barista had apparently left the usual place behind the counter and was now hovering over him, warmth spreading from the hand on his shoulder, resting a tray in front of him.  

 ‘C’est juste moi. Here you go. Touka and the others are all studying, so it’s just me on waiting duty.’ He explained. ‘Still have an exam coming up?’ this impossible human inquired, nodding at mess of notes scattered across the table.

Kaneki shook his head, forcing his eyes back to the page - ‘Essay.’

‘Hmm, I see.’ The hand retreated, leaving tingles in its wake. ‘Look, it’s a bit noisy out on the main floor, with the music and all, customers rushing in and out. How about I offer you one of the booths? We don’t have any bookings for today, and it’s much more serene if you’re looking for a place to study.’

In the entire frequency of his visits he didn’t even know there was a section for reservation. It turned out to be separated from the main floor by a large screen that he previously thought masked a staff area or something of sorts.

If it was anyone else, Kaneki would have argued that he was just fine as it was, plus there were literally no new customers from the moment he walked in until now – but in this situation he didn’t trust himself to mask his embarrassment. He found himself being led past the display of various cakes and assortments, through to a row of couches where he was ushered to a cushioned booth by the window, the high back of the seat secluding him from the rest of the shop.

‘Here, you should find this more comfortable.’ The barista smiled, placing  the coffee in front of him as Kaneki sorted out his books. ‘Let me know if you need anything, and good luck with your studies, oui?’

Kaneki wasn’t sure what to say to that, staring at the stranger’s back retreating.  Too late, he remembered he probably should have thanked his host.

‘Uh – thank you…’ He meant to call after him, but his voice came out unexpectedly tiny.

‘Oh, no trouble at all. Oh, and also,’  The man looked over his shoulder, leaning on door frame, something lazy about his posture, usually so upright. ‘It’s Tsukiyama to you, in case you were wondering.’ 

And just like that, he was gone back, leaving behind a flustered Kaneki alone in the midst of the dimly lit rows of booths, the usual sounds of the coffee shop fading away.

He studied his surroundings, chewing on the end of his pen. Kaneki had to admit the booth was quite lovely – soft, diluted glow, a relaxing view from the window, one of the side alleyways – seats so soft he felt he could melt into them. It probably would have been more comfortable for productive work than the little one-man table he was used to. Problem was, his concentration level was non-existent.

‘Tsuki-Yama.’ He breathed the syllables of the name, as it tasting it. He thought it suited him, simple, yet elegant in its pronunciation. Suited the movement of his hands as they moved over the coffee machine, suited the grace of his movement as he walked in front of Kaneki, carrying the tray to the booth, the way his long legs were particularly emphasised by those slacks, hugging every curve…Kaneki jerked his hand, crossing out the mess of a sentence he’s written. There was definitely no work being done if he kept on letting his mind wander like that. Thinking about how the other remembered his name, singling him out among the other regulars. How hot and heavy the hand on his shoulder felt.

He did manage to get back on track for a while, scribbling down a few messy paragraphs; but not for long. He was once again interrupted by the object of his untimely fantasies, hovering beside him.

‘See, that much better, oui?’ his host inquired, radiating contentment. Kaneki dared to look up at him, nodding once and mumbling a word of thanks, and then the wooden texture of the table is suddenly the most fascinating thing on earth.

The man – _Tsukiyama_ – did something completely unexpected then, sliding into the seat across from Kaneki, leaning onto his elbows and resting his chin on his hands. His eyes were slightly narrowed, as if he was studying the boy, calculating something. Kaneki was surprised to find that close up his eyes had a purplish hue to them. Maybe the hair colour could have been natural, after all.

‘The shop is technically on break now,’ the man continued nonchalantly, ‘But it’s alright for you to stay here. Just thought I’d let you know and see how you’re doing.’

Kaneki shifted in his sit nervously, completely aware of a treacherous blush threatening to stain his cheeks. He mumbled something along the lines of ‘Thank you very much, I’m fine’, fingers tightening around his pen once again. He wasn’t aware afternoon breaks were a thing here. He wished he hadn’t found a certain thrill in being alone here with Tsukiyama.  

‘Second-year Short Fiction?’ Tukiyama asked. Startled, Kaneki looked up, making the mistake of meeting his collocutor’s eyes.

 The surprise must’ve been evident on his face – Tsukiyama gave a soft chuckle.

‘Forgive me my straightforwardness. I recognised some of the books you have here, and the titles were familiar. I happened to take the same class before, that’s all.’

‘You’re from University of Ghoul too?’ Kaneki asked on impulse.

‘ _Oui_ , indeed – or was, rather. I majored in editorial works a few years ago. Transferred across to MM for my masters, though – they had a distance education programme. Didn’t want to give up the hours at the shop, non.’ Tsukiyama stared at the ceiling absently before continuing.  

‘Say, I was wondering if I could have a look at what you have here. Not to brag, but my end of year essay was one on the best ones across the course. Maybe there’s a few tips I could give you?’

Tsukiyama. Same university, same course as him even. Offering to help him, offering to spend time with him, and it’s a bit hard to process and Kaneki doesn’t even have a choice really. Because suddenly Tsukiyama is up again, leaning over him, a manicured finger running across the mess of his note, talking about Hemmingway and Carver and styles and techniques, and it’s all happening too quickly for him to follow. Kaneki feels helpless, suddenly self-conscious of everything, the nonsensical flow of his rushed handwriting, the whiteout stain on the fold of his sleeve, the blunt edges of his fingernails.

Tsukiyama is leaning so close all he can smell is fresh coffee and aftershave and cologne – probably an expensive brand. He can feel the other’s warmth ghosting over the back of his neck, can feel the heat radiating off him and he’s so beautiful this close Kaneki is lost.

He tries to pay attention, to nod long as Tsukiyama recites bits of ‘Hills like White Elephants’ to him, because he’s obviously good at this, knows what he’s talking about. It’s difficult though, especially when the man’s gesticulations come to a halt, his right hand coming to rest on his Kaneki’s forearm. The boy supresses a shudder, comparison and analysis no longer relevant at the slightest. He’s concentrating only on the percentage of Tsukiyama’s skin in contact with his jumper, on the distance between them and how small it really is.

Abruptly, the tirade of explanations stops. Kaneki stares at the page, feeling too awkward to look up, but he can _feel_ the lingering gaze the other gives him, shifting even closer until he’s almost forcing himself in the seat beside him.

‘You’re not listening at all, are you?’

When the hand on his arm moves, travelling in circular motions, Kaneki feels his whole body jolt, pen falling from between his fingers, useless.

‘Now, now. We wouldn’t want to have you so tense when you still have important work coming up, would we?’

Tsukiyama drawls out, and there’s something catlike in the way his hand creeps along Kaneki’s, thumb caressing the inside of his wrist, before abruptly dipping below the table and coming to rest on his knee. Kaneki forgets to breathe.

His head is spinning, panic rising and mingling with some kind of unhealthy excitement. He doesn’t know what he’s getting into anymore, doesn’t understand what Tsukiyama’s doing, whether he’s realising it; he’s not sure if he wants to.

Tsukiyama was beautiful from afar – up close, he’s intoxicating. Dangerous.

 

‘How about we get you to relax a bit, how does that sound?’

This turn of events wasn’t anticipated, was escalating at an alarming rate, but he can’t deny the heat coursing through him as Tsukiyama breathes against his hair. Can’t deny the desire starting to pool in his groin, drawing out anything of reason.

Tsukiyama’s weight advances onto him, and instinctively he moves further down into the seat, towards the cold of the window. The hand on knee moves inwards, groping the soft of his thigh, and he snaps his legs closed on reflex, muscles tensing together. This isn’t happening. This _can’t_ be happening.

‘Oh, no no, _mon cheri_ , we can’t have any of that,’ the man’s breath ghosts over the shell of his ear, seeming more strained, and the observation feels like a jolt of electricity striking through him, settling in the pit of his stomach. The hand moves inwards, massaging between his legs, trying to coax him into acceptance, and Kaneki struggles to resist the temptation to shift downwards, to submit.

‘Come on now, _soit gentil_...’ Tsukiyama murmurs, his arm snaking around Kaneki’s shoulders, holding him close, occupying everything around him. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at me, you know. Did you think you’d go unnoticed? Even Nishiki thought something was up with how you’re always around’

Kaneki wants to die from embarrassment. He really hoped he’s been at least a tiny bit subtle. Then again, he’s never been particularly good at hiding his feelings.

‘Did you not think about what it does to me? Having you come here every day, eyeing me up like that, following my every movement? Constant awareness of how much you want me? How much you want me right here, right now?’

 Tsukiyama leans even closer, and then there’s an unmistakable feeling of lips on his skin, first a chaste flutter down the curve of his cheek, and then this calamity is mouthing at the line of his jaw, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his neck, wet and hungry. A moan lingers in the air around them, and Kaneki is mortified to realise he’s the one to emit it.

He tries to lean away, but Tsukiyama’s other hand is there, lazy, tantalising fingers creeping along his collarbone, occasionally sipping below the edge of his shirt. Tsukiyama drags his nails up his neck, gently, and _oh_ , Kaneki wasn’t aware that a simple caress could feel like that. He’s completely trapped, engulfed by the wave of pleasure crashing against the confines of his body, and a part of his still doesn’t believe this is happening. Tsukiyama presses his mouth to his collarbone, alternating between hard sucks and feathery kisses, fumbling to undo the first few buttons, and his cock twitches in response.

Dimly, Kaneki remembers where they are, the ridicule and indecency of the situation sinking in.  Knees digging into the tabletop, he makes another attempt to move away, to defend himself from the end of his existence that is Tsukiyama’s ministrations.

‘I wouldn’t sit so close to the window if I were you.’ Tsukiyama nuzzles at his shoulder, voice husky, and his body feels unnaturally hot. ‘I’ve had the glass tinted a month ago or so, but you can still make out what’s happening on the inside if you look closely. Though I wouldn’t mind showing off how eager you are for me…’

Kaneki stiffens in his arms, panic taking priority, and it’s then when Tsukiyama bites down at the side of his neck. It should have hurt, it should have felt gross probably, but Kaneki moans, trembling as the spark of pleasure travels through him, body going limp, protests aside. Tsukiyama finally forces his legs open, and instead of tensing back up he finds himself rolling his hips in anticipation.

‘Ah, not yet.’ He can swear Tsukiyama’s smiling against his skin. ‘As enticing as you are, I can’t do this after you’ve been recoiling from every touch. I want to hear you say this is all right, _d’accord_?’

It’s a bit too late for that, Kaneki thinks, casting a quick glance at the window. This is where he should demand to be left alone, should flee the losing grounds and never show his face here again. But this is Tsukiyama, the man who’s been a part of his almost stalkerish routine for months, the man who he’s dreamt about and fantasised about for the entire semester, and that fact in itself is making it difficult to remain rational. Not with a hand rubbing at the junction of his thigh, an inch away from where he’s throbbing and fucking leaking with anticipation, and Kaneki’s lost, nothing left in him to deny how much he wants this right now, how he’s never been this hard in his life.

‘Well?’ Tsukiyama’s other hand travels across his chest, the man’s knuckles grazing his nipple, one by one.

‘Please’, his voice sounds too fucking vulnerable as he tilts his head back, exposing more pale skin for Tsukiyama to pay heed to, hips jerking uncontrollably beneath the other’s teasing caresses. He can only hope no one walks too closely by the café window.

‘ _Dolce_.’ The other chuckles. ‘You’re as sweet as I imagined you to be.’

Kaneki doesn’t have time to relish in the idea of the perfect, unobtainable man behind the counter thinking of him, of Kaneki, let alone imagining doing something like this to him. Tsukiyama palms his hard cock through his jeans, softly humming into his ear, and then he’s grinding into the palm, desperately trying to keep his voice at bay because it feels so, so good.

‘Let’s get you out of those, shall we?’ The smell of coffee and cologne retreats for a second as Tsukiyama tugs at his belt, almost aggressive as he pulls his jeans down to his thighs, thumbs circling the protrusion of his hipbone.

‘Yeah, that’s good, _ne proteste pas_ …Look at how hard you are already, and I’ve barely touched you…’

This isn’t happening, Kaneki thinks. The most damn beautiful human being he’s ever experienced is not crooning obscenities into his ear as his fingers work his cock out of the confines of his briefs, giving it a tentative stroke, his other hand wandering up to tangle in his hair.

‘Tell me, did you ever think of me doing this to you when you came and watched me?’

There’s a thought somewhere, reminding him that this isn’t what Kaneki really is, isn’t all he fantasised about, isn’t the way he romanticised the possibility of their encounter. Romanticising a stranger was easy, remaining an observer from afar, but Tsukiyama’s right there, hot breath coming in little gasps on his skin, hand stroking his cock in tantalising lazy motions, thumb sliding along the underside, and Kaneki decides he can reason with that thought later.

He can let the sensation overtake him for now, the stress and tension of the past week melting away under Tsukiyama’s ministrations, and the boy honestly doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt so content. Briefly, he wonders if it’s the same for Tsukiyama, wonders how much he’s getting out of seeing him writhing in his arms, fucking himself into his fist, biting back little gasps and moans.

He twists his head to the side to get a glimpse of the other’s face, and his breath hitches. He’s only ever seen the bartender at work, polite and neutral, or wearing a big smile for the show of customer service. Now, he looks almost inhuman, pupils dilated, teeth digging into his lip, jaw locked in place. There’s something predatory coming through his features, an unquantifiable hunger in his gaze.

He’s beautiful.

Kaneki wants to kiss him, he realises. He cranes his neck further, but Tsukiyama hovers just out of reach. He brings up a finger to lightly trace along Kaneki’s bottom lip – it’s a strange sensation, slightly ticklish, but then Tsukiyama’s hand is holding his jaw in place and he’s kissing him, rough and merciless and hungry.

Tsukiyama tastes like dark chocolate, an enriched bitterness. Kaneki doesn’t think he’s going to last very long, not with the hand on his cock picking up the pace and the fervent kisses and the knowledge that this is Tsukiyama, the stranger at the coffee shop, he’s still processing that. He closes his own hand around the man’s wrist in encouragement, hips jerking in tact with the movement –

\- and momentarily tears away as  shadows glide past the window a fleeting movement of someone walking centimetres away from the glass. They’re at the coffee shop. They’re at the coffee shop and if anyone decided to look through the vitrine they’d see the mystery barista with his hands down Kaneki’s pants, looking at him like he’s some sort of unique meal.

Kaneki isn’t sure if the idea of getting caught, of being seen by a random passerby is mortifying or thrilling. His partner seems to be aware of his hesitation, though.

‘Hmm, that won’t do. Well, if you’re so wary of getting caught, mon cher – allow me to do a little something for you.’

Before Kaneki can object, the other’s warmth leaves him completely, and then Tsukiyama is sliding off the seat in one fluid motion. There’s hands spreading his legs even further apart, and this ridiculous human being is resting his head on Kaneki’s thigh, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, black with desire. His tongue darts out to lap at the precome glistening on the tip of his cock, and Kaneki jerks his head back against the seat, gasping, nails digging into the table. He works at the head with his tongue, teasing flicks and light kisses and he keeps on pulling back and it’s driving Kaneki insane. He slouches over the table, weight shifting over his elbows in a desperate attempt to keep his hips in place, keep himself from thrusting at the other’s mouth.

A part of him is still worried that Tsukiyama really doesn’t have to do this and it’s automatically more dirty on a whole another degree and the tabletop is too low to provide enough space and really they can just move to a different booth, away from the window, but before Kaneki can voice any of that there’s a velvety hot warmth around his length as Tsukiyama takes him in his mouth, swallowing him whole, and then he really can’t think anymore. He’s glad the table obstructs Tsukiyama’s face because he probably wouldn’t be able to bear looking at his face as he does this, as he pulls off, working his tongue around the sensitive flesh, as he takes him in his mouth again and lets Kaneki’s cock hit the back of his throat. He’s making sounds now, little mewls of enthusiasm as he bobs his head up and down, coming off to gasp for air, and they’re lucky if being closed for break meant no other customers around to hear what a lewd mess they are right now.

There’s other noises floating in from the outside as a pack of students makes their way down the alleyway, and Kaneki sinks down further in his seat, glad for the little secrecy the desk provides.

There’s a constant reminder at the back of his mind that this is the most exquisite creature he thought unobtainable, kneeling under a table and moaning around his cock, that the mystery man is tangible and there for him – that _Tsukiyama_ ’s there for him.

 

 Anything besides that thought is sensory overload, so he opts to close his eyes instead, focusing on the feel of Tsukiyama’s mouth on him, the tightness and warmth and willingness to please. It’s hot and sinful and nothing he’s ever experienced before had felt like this and it’s not long before everything within him tightness in anticipation.

He reaches for Tsukiyama’s hair with trembling fingers, trying to pry him off his cock as Kaneki tries desperately to hold back, but the other’s fingers dig into his hipbones, and it’s hard enough to bloom in bruises later probably. He’s holding Kaneki in place as he comes, Tsukiyama’s name slipping past his lips in an involuntary gasp, Tsukiyama’s tongue stroking at the underside until he’s oversensitive and exhausted, vision blurred, feels like his body’s short-circuiting.

He slumps back against the booth, spent, struggling to catch his breath as he looks down to see Tsukiyama pull off him, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open. His face burning, Kaneki watches the other’s throat tremble as he swallows, violet eyes never leaving his, and he knows he’s done for.     

As he fumbles to readjust his clothes, grasping onto whatever decency remains, Tsukiyama slides out from under the table, smoothing his apron over the noticeable bulge in him pants, unfastening the ties so it drapes more loosely. Kaneki watches as the rise and fall of his chest evens out, and he’s back to the elegance and nonchalance he’s used to seeing behind the counter, calm and collected. He feels like a mess in comparison, sweaty and dishevelled and awkward, his mind in turmoil, his limbs heavy at the memory of quivering beneath Tsukiyama’s touch.

 

‘You alright, cher?’ Tsukiyama asks, leaning against him once more. Kaneki feels too bewildered to answer, so he just nods, embarrassment beginning to flood in once more. The barista looks at him from beneath these damn lashes, and offers him a gentle smile, somehow different to the one he wears at front of the house, more intimate.  

‘Guesss I should offer you an apology, hmm. For interrupting your studies. I do hope that was a pleasant alternative,’ – his voice drops a few tones lower – ‘since it certainly was for me.’

Kaneki licks his lips, and there’s nothing new in the way his eyes follow Tsukiyama’s every movement.

‘Well, the break is almost over, so I guess I should prepare to open the shop again.’ He starts to retreat, hand flying up to tuck a loose strand of hair in place. Kaneki fights the urge to call after him, but Tsukiyama pauses anyway, looking over his shoulder, elbow resting against the screen.

 ‘But in the case of your essay not being too urgent – today’s an early close. I’ll be done by 5, if you’re willing to wait. I’m sure you and I could find a few things to talk about, oui?’

 

 

The downfall of Kaneki Ken is upon him. Somehow, he doesn’t mind it that much.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also at http://prismatic0re.tumblr.com if you wanna say hi or drop a prompt (:


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